Seat Belt
by AZGirl
Summary: The aftermath of a life-changing medical condition.


**Title**: Seat Belt

**Summary**: The aftermath of a life-changing medical condition.

**Disclaimer**: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Medical Disclaimer:** I am not a medical professional. Please excuse any errors or liberties… Does personal experience count for anything?

**Spoilers**: None.

**A/N: **No beta on this one. All mistakes are mine.

**DEDICATED TO:** Anjelik and GibbsRules – You Ladies are awesome! Your kind words and encouragement have helped me out a lot… Thank you.

**ooooooo**

Twelve years ago, if you'd asked anyone who knew him, they'd say that it would have been death by bullet or explosion. But he had defied expectations and lived – much to my relief.

Years ago, they'd forced him to step back as team lead for the MCRT and take over as lead agent responsible only for cold cases. Finally I was the leader of my own team. I'd outlasted everyone – even five directors. No matter how many times they'd tried to promote me and give me my own team, I'd said no – until they'd offered me his team. It only seemed fitting and right that I should take over for him.

No one had ever been the wiser. They all chose to believe that I was incompetent in some way or had pissed off the wrong people and was doomed to be a senior field agent for the rest of my career. Though I think he knew because every time I turned down another offer, I would get an especially painful headslap seemingly out of nowhere and for no reason.

But, every time an offer was made, my gut told me to stay close and mostly I'm glad I did. Over the years, we'd lost everyone from our little makeshift family – some by death and some by promotion or marriage. I was fortunate to be married once myself, but an assassin's bullet took both her and our unborn child away from me after only two years.

We never did find any concrete evidence that it was her father – but two guts know with absolute certainty it was that S.O.B. and I've never doubted at least one of those guts. Countless people over the years had said that we were so alike – and now that likeness was complete.

Well almost. I still have better taste in movies.

I kind of fell apart there for awhile, but somehow he managed to keep me from completely self-destructing. He always did have my six.

And, then three years ago, it happened. On any given day it was sort of a contest to see who'd get into the office first. He didn't always win, but usually we'd both be there within 10 minutes of each other.

When I got there that morning and he wasn't there, my gut screamed and I just knew.

Immediately, I turned around and ran for my car. I think I broke nearly every traffic law on the books that day just to get to his house – hoping, praying I wasn't too late.

And, no matter what anyone says, I _was_ too late.

Deep down I know there was nothing I could've done to prevent what happened, but I know I will always feel guilty for not being there.

I found him in the kitchen next to the counter that features his beloved coffee maker. It looked like he had just suddenly dropped while on the way to get some coffee. Dialing 911 as I rushed to his side, I told the dispatcher that a federal agent was injured even though I could tell that this had nothing do with our job. If it got help there faster, then I was prepared to accept any consequences.

As I kneeled down beside him, I experienced vast extremes of emotion. At first it was incredible panic when I saw that his eyes were open and staring; and then it was the immense relief of finding that he still had a pulse and was breathing. But, the fact that he wasn't moving or responding to me made my heart leap into my throat and I could barely breathe.

I knew there was nothing more I could do until the paramedics arrived. So, I did the only thing I could do, I grabbed his hand and held on for dear life – both his and mine.

Finally, I saw his eyes stray towards me and I knew that our lives would never be the same again.

ooooooo

The diagnosis: a stroke.

It primarily affected the right side of his body, and only time would tell how much mobility he would regain. The first hurdle though was his speech.

Normally a man of few words and a glare that could say so much, communication between us wasn't that much of a problem. I had long ago mastered how to speak "Glare". Thankfully, he did regain the ability to speak pretty quickly. But, I don't think I'd ever felt so humbled in life as when I heard the first word out of his mouth since the stroke.

He'd said my name.

I asked the current director for an extended leave and he actually had no problem with my request since it was well known throughout the agency that we were all each other really had in terms of family.

Being each other's medical proxy meant that I had a lot of say in regards to his health care. And, later, when he was again capable of making his own decisions, he seemed to still want my input.

The doctors said it would be a long recovery and that he would probably never be like he was before. His life had irrevocably changed and because of how I feel about the man, my life was forever changed as well.

I knew his stubbornness would allow him to get his life back as much as his mind and body would allow – and he did. He really only has trouble walking when he's tired, but one of the biggest blows that the stroke delivered was to make wood working difficult, if not impossible to do. His right hand just can't handle the labor-intensive, detail-oriented hobby anymore. He does what he can, but thankfully all the time I had spent in the basement in the past wasn't for nothing. I do most of the work now and he tells me what to do – nothing new there.

Many practical aspects of our lives have changed as well. Once I knew his recovery would be a long road, I resigned from my team lead position and asked to take over the lead on cold cases. The job had more normal working hours and that meant I could be home more. Once he'd figured out what I'd done though, he headslapped me as hard as he was able.

He didn't want me to ruin my career for him. He'd heard the rumblings just like I had about me being in line to become the next Assistant Director, and he didn't want me to jeopardize my chances. If he only knew just how many times I had turned down promotions. What am I thinking? He probably already did know that! He always did have a knack for finding out that kind of information. And, those seemingly random, bordering on coincidental, headslaps….

Oh yeah, he knew.

But, if he's considered stubborn and a bastard, then my being around him for so long has definitely rubbed off on me. I looked him in the eyes, told him it was done, and that there was nothing he could say or do that would change my mind. He reached up and lightly headslapped me then grabbed my neck and gently squeezed.

Message received.

Another change we made was for me to break the lease on my apartment and move into his house. I used to have my own house, but I'd sold it and gone back to apartment living after my wife had been killed. I just couldn't stand to live with all those memories. He'd fought me at the time, but I eventually won that argument. He fought me this time too though I could tell he was secretly very pleased with the idea.

I was over at his house all the time anyway so it just made sense for me to move in. I also think he knew I was still having the occasional nightmare about finding him like I did the day of his stroke. He knew it would reassure me to be there full-time and I think he was finally tired of being alone in that big house.

The biggest challenge to his recovery was to get him to accept his body's limitations. It was only going to come back so far and he had to realize that he couldn't keep up with everything that needed to be done in and around the house. Because of my job, I couldn't keep up with everything either. So, we finally accepted that we both needed help.

We needed to find someone who was willing to help with both his physical therapy and with keeping up the house. Not to mention being able to put up with two stubborn bastards. Eventually we found someone – a nurse who had retired early and wanted a change. She's become like family to us and we're toying with the idea of asking her to move in. She's alone in the world just like we were.

The other huge blow in his life was to learn he wasn't allowed to drive anymore. I had to take all his sets of keys away and disable all his vehicles so that he wouldn't be able to drive. He caught on to what I had done and it was the first and only full-blown argument we've had post-stroke. I won the argument when I told him just how I felt to find him that day – sprawled out on the floor and unresponsive. I didn't want to ever again feel that fear, panic, despair, and all the other myriad of emotions I had felt that day.

Besides the Charger was too nice a car to wrap around a tree.

He smiled at that comment and promised he wouldn't try to drive anymore. And, in return, I make sure to take him to all his doctor's appointments in his Charger. I never thought I'd ever get to drive that car.

Working as lead over cold cases did have one advantage – it allowed me the flexibility to be there for him for almost all of his doctor's appointments. Coming out of this latest appointment, I was walking slightly behind him on his right side just in case he stumbled. I could tell he was tired from the appointment and didn't want him to fall.

The doctor had been very pleased with the progress made so far and I'd quipped that he shouldn't be so surprised considering he had a stubborn bastard for a patient. The doctor had been shocked by the comment, but the "stubborn bastard" actually laughed – out loud. I couldn't have been any happier at his reaction. At least until what happened at the car.

During the early stages of his recovery it had become my habit to help him into the car, lean over him to buckle his seat belt, make sure he was situated, and then close the car door. Now, he rarely needs my assistance into the car, but I still tend to hover anyway in case he needs me.

Many times he still has trouble with his seat belt and I end up helping him with it. Though, I'm starting to suspect that he can nearly always buckle his belt just fine and that he's really just giving in to my tendency to want to "mother hen" him. I wouldn't put it past him.

Today seems to be one of those days when he's having "trouble" with his seat belt. As I lean over him to lock it into place, he looks me in the eyes and quietly says:

"Thanks, Tony."

The look in his eyes tells me he's talking about so much more than the stupid seat belt. My throat closes up a bit at all the emotions that are struggling to break through, but I don't allow them free reign. I swallow it all down and, smiling shyly, reply in what I hope is my normal voice:

"You're welcome, Boss."

I straightened up and closed the car door. And, as I walked around to the driver's side, I thanked God that he put Leroy Jethro Gibbs in my life. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me.

As I got into the car, I swiped at a rogue tear, and prepared myself for the usual criticisms about my driving and admonishments to be careful with his beloved Charger.

So much had been said in those five words, and I don't think either one of us will ever forget this moment between a father and a son.

**ooooooo**

_**The end**_**. **

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** Hopefully the ending wasn't too sappy. And, please forgive me for glossing over and not including the finer details about having and recovering from a stroke. I didn't think they were necessary to tell the story.

This story was inspired by the simple act of helping a loved one with their seat belt. Like Tony with Gibbs' seat belt, I think she has "trouble" with her seat belt on purpose.

And, I don't mind at all. ;o]

**Thanks for reading!**


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